Seven Deadly Sins
by datbenik513
Summary: We all have sins. We all commit little crimes. When and where do we reach the point of no return?    - Co-author s  wanted for chapters 4-7 -
1. Chapter 1

I'm sitting on the stone cold floor in Alastor Moody's office. My hands are tied to my body with magical ropes and my feet are tied together. I resemble, so it seems, an ancient mummy from Egypt, but I feel more like a larva in its cocoon. Either way, I can't move my hands, my feet and I'm freezing cold.

From my sitting position I silently observe the room which had been my home for the past several months. The ghostly features of Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall's faces are still visible in the Foe Glass. My - Moody's - magical instruments: silvery metal orbs lay scattered on my desk, on the shelves, in the cupboards; everywhere. Dumbledore asked McGonagall to guard me after he'd returned from taking Potter away. I never liked this woman during my 'professorship' at Hogwarts. She always kept an eye on me, not because she'd realized who I was, simply because she hadn't approved of my methods dealing with students. Wearing her usual black robe and pointed hat, this woman is sitting now in an armchair, just a mere few steps from me, pointing her wand right between my eyes. Her lips are pressed together in concentration and sheer determination to curse me, should I do anything suspicious. Were my situation not so miserable, I would laugh out loud, so comical she is.

Precious Potter; the reason behind all events. The reason the Dark Lord will reward his most faithful - most precisely his _only_ faithful - servant beyond any imagination now that he's returned from non-existence. I close my eyes as I recall the events, 13 long years ago.

That night, on Halloween's eve, the Dark Lord set out, as he said, to prevent a prophecy from ever coming true. He wouldn't share anything with us and those, who were lucky enough to have known him as close as I had, might recall that the Dark Lord could be very persuasive when it came down to carrying his own will through. So he set out but never returned. Hours later owls started to fly in with the news that the Potters were found dead and beside the body of Lily Potter the lifeless body of the Dark Lord was discovered. Oh yes, that was a shock for all of us, I can't deny it. People started to flee: abroad, underground, leaving the sinking boat like hordes of stinking rats; sneaky Lucius Malfoy, who could dive in a lava lake and emerge unharmed and impeccably good-looking, later would testify he was acting under the Imperius curse; those stupid Crabbe and Goyle brats; greasy-haired Snape; Karkaroff, the imbecile, selling us for 30 silver pieces in order to save his pitiful existence. All fled. Only four of us, Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers and myself had stayed faithful to the Dark Lord and I'm immensely proud I had.

We were refusing to believe the rumours and were searching high and low for any facts, anything, which would bring us closer to solve this mystery and find the Dark Lord. Bella went completely insane. We closed on the Longbottoms and had tortured them for hours, days for any information they might have had in vain. Slowly, we were forced to accept the fact; no sooner the realization had come down to us, we were captured and trialled. My precious father sent me to Azkaban for life and the mob voted for it and cheered while I was carted off to rot slowly away between those mouldy stone walls.

Were it not for my mother, I would be lying in an unnamed, unsigned grave somewhere by now. She knew she was dying, the poor soul, but she had managed to convince my father to take pity on me and, as endlessly as he'd loved her, he listened to her. We took Polyjuice Potion and switched bodies and I returned home with my father. I was placed under the Imperius curse and shielded from the outside world. But he underestimated me and my powers. I learned, just like Potter, to resist the Imperius curse and I used my one and only chance to break free from my father at the Quidditch World Cup. When I saw those bastards, my former allies playing their childish tricks on the Muggles, my blood boiled. Oh, how I wanted them all to suffer; while they were living as free men, socializing, having dinners, parties, holding balls in their mansions I had been despairing in my long years of imprisonment. Oh, how I laughed when I pointed the wand I'd stolen into the dark sky and invoked the Dark Mark and saw those rats fleeing again, trampling each other in panic.

Then my father found me and imprisoned me again, but my Master came to rescue me. I was immensely proud when he acknowledged I'd served him well and he told me he'd had big plans for me. I was flattered that he accepted my plan and that I alone was able to help him regain his previous powers. I knew I would be royally rewarded for my faith.

So my master plan had worked out. I came to Hogwarts and helped Potter through the three tasks of the Triwizard (or should I say, after my useful little intervention, Quadwizard?) Tournament. I'm proud beyond limits that I'd managed to defy one of the greatest Legilimens on Earth, Albus Dumbledore, during the whole school year and that not one of the staff, not even those who had known Moody for decades, had figured out that Moody wasn't Moody at all.

There was one single moment my plan could have gone wrong, terribly and irreversibly wrong: the moment my precious father showed up at Hogwarts. He was the only person to know who I really was so I had to do something before he could talk to anyone. When he signed the parchment sentencing me to life-long imprisonment in Azkaban he knew bloody well he had just signed my death sentence, yet he had never shown any sign of remorse or mercy ever since. Unlike him, I was merciful. His death was clean and painless, unlike the 12 long, miserable years I had spent among those walls.

Tonight, when I saw Potter return with the Portkey, I knew in an instant my plan had worked out. I was overwhelmed with pride and joy again. I was so curious to hear from him what had happened at the graveyard at Little Hangleton that I forgot about all precautions. The real Moody wouldn't have taken Potter away from Dumbledore, but I had. I was so eager to question him, to hear from his mouth what I had hoped to hear, that the Dark Lord had arisen again and he had punished all those who'd abandoned him, that Dumbledore took suspicion.

My blood was boiling again when Potter told me the Dark Lord had forgiven the scum that had betrayed him, those cowards who hadn't been willing to sacrifice themselves for him like I had. I could not believe my ears when the boy told me the Dark Lord had been merciful to the spineless snails who managed to stay out of Azkaban, while I was slowly rotting away there. But I knew the Dark Lord would reward me beyond any measure if I had finished the job he couldn't and killed Potter, his worst enemy, the reason behind his 13 years of misery and bare existence.

I can hear steps outside in the corridor. McGonagall rises from her armchair and turns towards the door. Suddenly I feel an icy chill and a sudden wave of despair runs through my veins. I know this feeling too damned well; I could never ever mistake it for anything else. I have had enough chances to feel it, enough for my whole life. A Dementor is outside, in the corridor, and according to the voices I can hear at least two people. The Foe Glass is covered with a thin layer of ice as the temperature in the room cools down; our breath escapes our mouths in the form of small clouds. The lights go out in the room but McGonagall lights her wand. In the feeble wandlight I see her face is frightened and now, for the first time during the evening, I am scared.

The door is unlocked and it sweeps open. Indeed, there are two men - one of them I recognize instantly as Cornelius Fudge, the Minister - and a Dementor entering the room. McGonagall stands up, trying to protest, but the other man simply pushes her aside. My heart skips several beats.

I have been proud all my life of serving my Master so well. But now, so it seems, came the time to pay for my pride. I'm frightened and close my eyes.

The Dementor sweeps closer. My heart is throbbing in my chest, beating in a devilish, fierce rhythm. I can smell the putrid stench of rotting flesh and I throw up with bile. Two glistening, decaying hands are protruding from under the cloak. The hands throw off the hood from the Dementor's head. I can't make out the features on the Dementor's greyish, decomposing face; my glance is drawn to its lipless, round mouth. Suddenly the creature draws a sharp breath and sucks in - so it seems - all air in the dark room. White fog is blinding me. I desperately try to hang on to my happy memories: that wonderful night the Dark Lord found me worthy of the Dark Mark; the last kiss of my dear mother when we said goodbye to each other after trading places. My efforts are in vain. The Dementor is ruthless. It's holding me in an iron grip with its clammy, bony hands as it sucks my sanity out of me.

Things are losing their names, words are losing their mea...


	2. Chapter 2

"Sev, you frightened me. Promise me you won't do it again!" The red-haired girl drew her hands to her chest and let out a frustrated sigh. She turned her back on the newcomer, a skinny, lumpy boy with greasy dark hair, dressed in odd, shabby, oversized clothes. She was sitting on a log, reading her favourite book, shielded from the icy January wind by a handful of young oak trees forming a small thicket and didn't expect him to turn up so suddenly in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Lily, I truly am," mumbled the boy barely audibly. "Look, I have got a present for you." He kneeled down besides her and handed over the sheet of parchment he was holding. "Happy birthday, Lily!"

Lily turned to him, her sudden anger and frustration completely gone. Instead, a huge grin formed on her freckled face. She carefully examined the parchment, where, drawn with the unsure hands of an eleven-year old boy in charcoal, she was surprised to find her own, strikingly resembling portrait.

"Thanks Sev, it's wonderful! You haven't forgotten my birthday. Seems like everybody else has. You are a real friend…my only friend," she sighed and gave a small peck on the boy's left cheek. Severus went purple and stared at her, then slowly, gently touched his cheek as if it had been burnt. Lily giggled, then jumped on her feet and helped the boy up. Still holding his hand, she pointed towards the river. "Let's go see if the river is frozen, I want to skate," she nudged him. Sev grudgingly followed her, both unaware of the prying eyes following them.

Petunia shook her head. "Again that awful Snape boy," she thought while she carefully, so that the others couldn't hear her, moved nearer. She absolutely loathed the boy living further down the river at Spinner's End. He was known to have come from a troubled family; he and his mother constantly being terrorised by his abusive, always drunken father. Yes, she loathed the boy, but she loathed – and equally feared – his regular, strong outbursts of primitive, uncontrolled magic Lily was so fascinated with. Unlike her two years younger sister, Petunia Evans wasn't a girl one could call "cute" or "nice". On the contrary; her face and figure were rather dull and uninteresting, she was a barely mediocre pupil, and there were only a handful of children who could stand her nosy, pesky character. She didn't have any real friends. Lily, on the other hand, had very nice features, was the best pupil in her class, and she was very popular with her classmates. Still, she spent all her spare time with Sev instead; the two were practically inseparable.

-

Petunia envied her sister of everything, even her "magic", which was – frankly speaking – frightening her all the time. The Evans', living in a predominantly wizarding community, were proud that at least one of their children were showing signs of magic and Petunia slowly got tired of it, developing pure hatred towards everything her sister represented.

"Lily! Lily!" Her mother's voice distracted Petunia from her thoughts. "Tuney!"

"Coming, Mum," she answered reluctantly and made her way back towards the house, carefully treading on the crispy snow.

"Tuney, dear, have you seen Lily around?" her mother enquired fondly handing her a freshly baked chocolate muffin. Petunia's nose drew in the delicious smell the muffin was emanating and closed her eyes in delight.

"She's over there, by the river, with that freaky Snape boy again," she spat, each word dripping with venom, then took a healthy bite from the treat.

"Would you mind calling her in, Tuney? Please tell her she has a visitor."

"Why me, Mum? They're talking about that 'magic' of theirs again. You know I can't stand it," she took a position clearly stating she'd had absolutely no intention whatsoever to talk to them.

"Tuney, please. I can't leave the birthday cake. Just go, will you?" he mother repeated in a calm voice. Petunia rolled her eyes and nodded. "OK, Mum, I will tell her. Thanks for the muffin."

She made her way back to the river. When she caught sight of the two, she stopped, as if frozen. Lily and Severus were sitting on the ground facing each other. A stone the size of a fist was levitating between them; from Lily to Severus, then back again.

"Khm, khm…" she cleared her throat. The two broke their concentration and the stone fell on the ground with a thump. She looked straight into Lily's eyes, pointedly ignoring the boy. "Mum wants you back. You have a visitor." Not waiting for an answer, she proudly turned around and marched back to the house.

-

Three people were sitting around the old, oval chestnut table. Her dad on the sofa, Lily in an armchair, and the strange visitor had just made himself comfortable in the other one. Mrs. Evans was serving tea and a delicious batch of her chocolate muffins was already placed on the table on a silver plate.

"Help yourself to some cake, Mr. Dubledore," she said, pouring steaming hot tea into her own cup at last and taking her place besides her husband, and with an elegant gesture pointed at the tray. The strange old man acknowledged her with a nod and a friendly smile; then made a gesture with his right hand and all of a sudden a chocolate muffin landed on each of the four dessert plates. Lily clapped her hands and emitted an excited cry while her parents watched in awe. Petunia rolled her eyes. "I could have known. Another freak showing off with his 'magic'", she muttered. She spat the last word with so much hatred that she was surprised even at herself. She took a better position by the window trying to catch everything happening at the table.

The visitor - as far as she could judge – was a tall, thin, very old man dressed into something similar to a cloak. It was made of a velvety emerald green material; a strange bird was richly embroidered in the fabric in a heavy golden thread. He wore a mischievous glance as he delightedly sipped from his tea; then he replaced his cup on the table. "You know, an old man as I am can most surely appreciate a nice cup of tea on such a cold day. It warms you through and through," he admitted. His face became more serious now and he turned to Lily.

"So, Lily, I want to wish you happy birthday first. Of course you understand it's not the only reason I'm here; for someone of our kind the eleventh birthday is of utmost importance," he went on and examined the excited girl with a curious glance through his half-moon spectacles. Lily's small hands were clutched in fists as she was trying to control her excitement.

"Our kind…your kind…freaky kind," rhymed Petunia smirking ironically, but her thoughts were distracted again, this time by the cracking sound of breaking china. She watched in disbelief as the cup of her younger sister shattered into thousands of tiny particles, right there on the table.

"Don't worry dear, you will learn to control your magic," smiled the old man with twinkles in his unusually clean, bright blue eyes and muttered something under his crooky nose causing the china splinters to reunite into a cup again as if nothing had happened.

"So, I have come to offer you a place in a rather special school where I have the privilege to teach boys and girls from the age 11 until 18. The school is called 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'…"

"I know, Mister. Severus told me all about your school," Lily cut in before he could continue.

"It is the Snape boy you are referring to, I assume, isn't it, Lily?" inquired Dumbledore fondly, silently amusing himself at the girl's excitement.

"Yes, Mister," answered the girl proudly. "He got his letter three weeks ago. It was brought by an OWL!"

"Yes, my dear, this is the usual way wizards and witches exchange letters," laughed the visitor and finished his tea, then reached into his robe and produced a letter from a pocket, seemingly hidden inside. "Well, I might not be an owl; nevertheless I have the honour to give you the same letter young Severus had earlier been delivered." With these words he handed over a rather large, square, yellowish envelope to her.

Petunia turned away from the window and sat on the ground breathing heavily. "So the Snape boy will attend that stupid school of his and now Lily's got her invitation as well. Proud parents as they are, Mum and Dad will most certainly let her go. It's just not fair. Why can't I go as well? Why can't I learn all this stuff?" Afraid as she was of their magic - "'God, how I hate this word,' she thought" – she could not help but wish she'd had it in herself as well and felt empty, unnecessary at the thought her younger sister had surpassed her, yet again.

"OK, here's the plan. I have to convince this Dubbledore to take me into his school as well," she concluded. She silently sneaked into the house so that no one would hear the door as she closed it after herself and tiptoed upstairs into her own room to carry out her plan.

-

"Tuney! Tuney!" Mrs. Evans' call echoed around the house. Petunia distractedly raised her head from the book she was reading. "What is it, Mum? What do you want?" she demanded in a rather irascible tone.

Mrs. Evans' face was overshadowed with badly disguised anger for a second. She didn't like being addressed this way at all; she put much effort into raising her two daughters into good-mannered young ladies. With Lily she had no problems. And Petunia…well, she's only Petunia, she thought to herself, but left her rude question without a comment this time. She did make a mental note to herself to find out why her older daughter had been behaving even more irritably than usual these days.

"You've got a letter, dear. Coming down for it or shall I bring it up to your room?" she inquired in a sugar-coated voice. That did the trick; no sooner had she spoke the last word of her question than she could hear the sound of Petunia's steps knocking on the wooden stairs as she rushed downstairs. With badly masked anticipation on her face Petunia snatched the rather huge, square envelope from her mother's hand, cast a victorious glance at her younger sister who silently observed the scene, and without a word returned to her room, taking two steps at once on the screechy stairs.

-

"I can't believe it! It's just not fair!" The shriek, followed by the sound of breaking glass, stirred up the silent conversation of the Evans' in the living-room. Lily rushed up the stairs to find out what had happened to Petunia. Her door was open, she stood at the window, trembling with fury. At her feet lay the envelope she'd received with the daily post merely minutes ago. Lily recognized it at once. It was the same envelope Professor Dumbledore gave her on her birthday. She went pale and went up to her older sister.

"Did you…did you get a letter from Hogwarts as well?" she inquired in a small voice, looking into Tuney's eyes.

"Yes, I did. That old freak wrote he was sorry that I couldn't be admitted to that school of his because I didn't have any magic in me," Tuney filtered the words between her teeth.

"You wrote a letter to Professor Dumbledore?" Lily was dumbfounded. How on Earth was Petunia able to contact the Professor? "But Tuney, you really can't go to Hogwarts."

That word did the trick. Petunia turned around and with all her strength slapped Lily on her face. "Get out from my room, you FREAK! I don't want to see you here again! I hate you!" she cried with a red face, then pushed her sister out of her room and slammed the door shut after her.

-

A ten years older Petunia Dursley is holding a piece of parchment and reading it for what seems the hundredth time. "…We are sorry to inform you that your sister, Lily Potter and her husband, James Potter were killed yesterday in their house at Godric's Hollow…" the parchment says. She wipes away a teardrop and whispers, "I'm so sorry, Lils…I'm so sorry…" She's woken up from her thoughts by a loud cry from the dining room.

"Petunia, what the hell are you doing? Where's my breakfast?"

"Coming, Vernon, just give me a second!" She recomposes herself with a sniff, wipes her eyes clean, and carries the tray into the dining room, where the two men in her life – her only living relatives as of yesterday – wait for their breakfast, to start yet another day in their lives.

Completely unaware of prophecies, faiths and tragedies around themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

"Though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortest me" (Isa. Xii.1)

Harry, still invisible, saw Voldemort point his wand towards Ginny and saw his chest rise as he drew in a sharp breath to cast his curse. He knew he had only a fraction of a second to react and only one single chance. A "_Protego_" shield wouldn't deflect the Killing Curse, he knew that, so he had to go for the most painful solution he could have ever imagined.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _

"_Stupefy!" _

The two battle cries echoed in the otherwise silent Great Hall as two gunshots, followed by a loud cry of pain as Harry's Stunner thrust Ginny out of harm's way and a blast as the now harmless Killing Curse blew a gaping hole in the wall.

Everybody, including Voldemort, was searching for the source of the second curse. Harry winced at the sight of his Ginny lying on the floor, semi-conscious, still in pain, but otherwise unharmed. "_I hope she forgives me for Stunning her. I'll let her Stun me in exchange if she wants to_," he thought. He let a small smile wander onto his cracked lips as he thought of how much he loved the redheaded girl, then composed himself and exhaled sharply.

"Are you looking for me, Riddle?" he asked, emphasizing the name, as he threw the Invisibility Cloak, the Third Hallow, Ignotus Peverell's inheritance on the floor. Everybody froze again, and multiple cries of disbelief and joy were heard as the defenders of the Castle recognized him, materializing seemingly from nowhere.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Harry bellowed unexpectedly as he pointed his wand at Voldemort.

The Elder Wand soared over into the air and Harry caught it with a graceful movement. Pocketing his own wand, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation as the Elder Wand united with its true master, becoming one with his magical essence. The feeling of power was so intense that he had almost cried out loud. Opening his eyes again, he realized that everybody, including teachers, students and even Voldemort himself, was curiously watching his small intermezzo. His grip tightened on the Elder Wand and he drew his lips together in concentration. The air around him was pulsating with raw energy, ready to break loose any moment. Ginny suddenly felt a beam of energy reaching her, soothing the pain of her broken body, calming her rapidly beating heart.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ Harry pronounced the jinx clearly, his ringing voice cutting through the dead silence, like Molly Weasley's knife cutting through freshly baked bread.

Voldemort's limbs went suddenly numb as the Body-Bind Curse worked its magic and he fell helpless on the ground. Harry approached the Dark Lord carefully and knelt down by him on the ground, whispering into his ears so that no one else could hear. "You are going to die today, Riddle, and this time for good, I'll see to it." He could see anger flashing in the red, snake-like eyes, but didn't care. An almost pleasant smile formed on his face as he stood up.

"How's your pet snake doing today, Riddle?" he asked in an innocent tone, causing the students to erupt in laughter and Neville flush red, if it was at all visible on his blood-stained face. With a swish of his wand he silenced the Great Hall. "The last time I saw her she looked pretty crappy, I'm afraid. Oh yes. The sword of Godric Gryffindor, impregnated with basilisk venom. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, does it, Riddle?" Twirling his wand in his hand, he started to circle around Voldemort with steady, even steps. He could feel waves of emotion emanating from the Dark Lord.

_Anger. Hatred. A thirst to kill. Despair. FEAR._

"You know, Riddle, it was pretty much the same with me. You tried to kill me…how many times? Halloween night. The end of my first year when you wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone. In the Chamber of Secrets, when your piece of soul possessed Ginny Weasley. In the graveyard of Little Hangleton when you had Cedric Diggory killed. In the Department of Mysteries when you came to get that prophecy Snape had alerted you about," he enumerated, counting on the fingers of his left hand. "Five times, Riddle, you'd tried to kill me. Well, I don't really seem dead, do I? On the contrary, it has made me stronger every time."

"Tonight, in the Forbidden Forest, you've tried it for the sixth time." He saw Ginny narrowing her brows and tears forming in her beautiful eyes. He flashed her a half-smile, then turned back to the Dark Lord, still lying on the floor. "Tonight, you killed … yourself. You killed the piece of your soul hidden in me ever since that fateful Halloween night, when you killed my parents. You killed the Horcrux you'd never intended to make. Now, that Nagini has been taken care of, there are no more Horcruxes left. No more backups, no more Plan B's. That's right, Riddle, you're mortal again, just like any one of us, and I'm going to make the best use of it." He'd never thought he'd ever utter these words, or threaten to kill a human being, but he felt that his future – and the future of everyone else in the Great Hall - lay in his hands.

"Isn't that strange, Riddle, that Severus Snape, the man you considered your right hand, who belonged to your inner circle, was actually one of us, Dumbledore's, and you had never understood it, never seen through him? Snape was ours all these seventeen years, and he made sure Dumbledore's plan was carried out and you'd be disposed of. Unfortunately, I was too late to save him tonight, but even as he was dying, he made sure I got all the information I needed to bring you down."

"Isn't that strange, that your master plan, to conquer Death and rule the world, was deciphered by one elderly wizard and a handful of students, barely of age. In your pride, you underestimated your enemies. You underestimated the power of friendship, sacrifice, and LOVE. For it was friendship that made us stick together throughout all these years. It was love that gave us strength to hold on when there seemed nothing left to hold on. It was sacrifice that deferred the Killing Curse you cast at me seventeen years ago and deferred all the curses you've been casting tonight." His voice was ringing again in the dead silence, growing stronger and stronger, and everybody in the Great Hall was clinging on his words as if the Messiah, the Saviour were speaking.

"Isn't that strange, that these students here, some of them not even of age yet, together with the Hogwarts staff, were an equal match to your precious Death Eaters, many of whom – as you see – are dead. It's over. We've lost many of our beloved throughout the years, we lost many of them tonight, but you have lost everything; your dreams, your servants, and ultimately, your life. As you go into history, you, Half-Blood Tom Riddle, will be spoken of in Past Tense rather than in Present Tense, as you – and together with you I – saw it in your dreams."

He felt rather than saw the Dark Lord break out from the Full Body-Bind Curse using some kind of non-verbal magic. He'd barely had enough time to raise his left – wandless - hand as he instinctively thought "_Stupefy_!" and to his – and everybody else's - great surprise Riddle was thrust by an invisible force against the opposite wall and left there lying on the ground as a rag doll.

Cheering broke out again in the Great Hall, and people made their way towards Harry, but he raised his hand and commanded them away. He, slowly, made his way towards the unconscious figure of Voldemort, when from the corner of his eye he saw a scene he'd never forget in his life. Only a mere few steps from Voldemort, bodies lay stretched out against the wall. Some of them unrecognizably mangled, burnt, torn.

Suddenly, an almost inhuman scream erupted seemingly straight from his heart as he fell on his knees besides three familiar bodies. Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks lay there, peacefully, completely unaware of the fact that the fate of the wizarding world was being unfolded right here, right now.

Even in his death, Fred wore his trademark mischievous smile, his glassy, blue eyes gazing at the ceiling. Even in their deaths, Lupin and Tonks were holding each other's hands. Harry could not bear this sight any more. Very gently, fighting his tears, he closed Fred's eyes, muttering a silent goodbye to his surrogate brother. He reached for Lupin's free hand and held it for a while as he silently mourned his mentor, friend, comrade, and the last link to his parents that had been cut now forever. Very slowly, he reached into his robe and pulled out his own wand, which he lay in Lupin's hand, as if wanting to say: "You fought bravely, Professor Lupin."

He let his tears run freely now as he laid a last, gentle kiss on Tonks' forehead, now scarred and ice cold; then he drew in a sharp breath, pressed his lips together in sheer determination and stood up in a sudden movement, with the picture of his innocent, now orphaned godson still before his eyes. He felt his anger building up inside, ready to break the levee any second from now.

The remaining glass in the huge windows burst suddenly into a myriad of tiny particles. The ground was trembling again, this time not under the trampling feet of the giants, rather from the sheer amount of uncontrolled magical energy Harry was emanating. His body was surrounded by a faint glow of gold and blue and those standing near to him backed away in awe as he made his way to Voldemort with fast steps. Even Hermione and Ron, who by this time had caught up with him and now were standing hand in hand a step behind him, backed away as if they were burnt by this glow. He looked like an angel of wrath, sent to Earth by God himself.

Harry placed a well-aimed kick at the lying Voldemort's ribs. "Get up, Riddle!" he cried, and, as his right hand again made the connection with the essence of the Elder Wand, he allowed a cruel smile to form on his face. "_Imperio!_" he commanded, just like a little less than twenty-four hours ago, in Gringotts, and welcomed the strange, pulsating sensation as if his senses were extended. He became one with his prey, and, for a short while, saw himself with Voldemort's eyes: in torn clothes, blood-stained, bruised, his spectacles lopsided, with a cold flame burning in his emerald eyes...

"I said: get up!" he repeated, and Riddle could not help but oblige his commanding voice. "Look around, because it will be the last picture you'll ever see. I want the sight of those dead children to be burnt in your retina when you die. I want you to remember all those cruel deeds you committed and beg for forgiveness from your victims in your very last hour. In the graveyard of Little Hangleton you told me that niceties should be observed, remember? You gave me my wand back and we dueled. Well, no dueling this time, Riddle, no niceties. _Avada Kedavra!_"

His face didn't even twitch as he cast the Killing Curse the very first time in his life, watching with interest the bright green ray of light as it smashed into Voldemort's chest with an unimaginable force, driving the remainder of his distorted soul out of the snake-like body. Voldemort was dead before his body even hit the marble floor.

"That was for your numerous victims, Riddle," Harry spat, watching his dead enemy with unmasked disgust.

"This is for my parents," he added indifferently, as the Elder Wand on his mental command emitted the second Killing Curse.

"And this is for my own, broken, miserable life," he finished, as Voldemort's body swallowed the third one.

With tear-stained eyes, he looked around the Great Hall, where everybody was watching him in grave silence. Only here and there was whispering to be heard. With trembling hands he snapped the Elder Wand in two, which emitted a high-pitched shriek as its magic died, finally and irrevocably, causing everybody to stop their ears with their hands.

He threw the two now useless pieces of wood on Voldemort's corpse, cast a last painful, yet loving glance at Ginny and left the castle through the main entrance, leaving everybody and everything, his eighteen years of life behind, never to return again.

He craved escape. From the horrors of this night, from the endless pain and suffering he'd witnessed, from his immense sense of guilt, and from the animal he himself had become.


End file.
